Fade Into View
by CheleSedai
Summary: Bonnie thinks she's dying. Damon thinks she should stop being over dramatic. (Post 6x22 AU Bamon Friendship Fic)


Bonnie Bennett is dying.

She finds it both apropos and rather anticlimactic that after all the things she's survived and gone through, after all the cosmic shit the universe has thrown at her that this is her legacy. That she will die here, alone, sometimes shivering with cold, sometimes roasting and clawing at her wet clothes. Certainly she deserves something more fitting than this. Her final embrace should not be among sterile coldness and the fuzziness that scratches at her cheek as something wet trickles out of her mouth.

Bonnie blinks her eyes open and the searing daggers of light that burn out her retinas remind her of why she closed them initially. She whimpers, the pain in her mid-section amplifying as her internal organs all rebel violently against her, as if an intensification of the pain she already suffers will somehow speed up her demise.

It's unfortunate that her body is not traitorous enough to allow her to lapse into welcome unconsciousness.

"Bonnie!"

She groans and whimpers at the hard, masculine voice reverberating off the walls and inside her skull. Damon's voice is usually soothing and welcome; something she never would have imagined years ago. Today however, it's too loud, much too loud and it hurts at that decibel level. Bonnie's far too weak to respond and simply curls further into a little ball.

"Bonnie! Where is she? Is she - "

"Here, in the bathroom." Damon cuts off Caroline's rambles with an exasperated snort. "She's fine by the way. I'm going with stomach flu. Maybe food poisoning. The fare at her favorite watering hole can be a little suspect. Not like I never warned her about those chili cheese fries."

If she were strong enough to use her magic, Bonnie would send him an aneurysm on general principle. It's not nice to kick a person when they're down. Especially when it's obvious that she's being tortured to death by her intestines.

"Oh my god!" Caroline's voice comes closer, and it's loud too and Bonnie just wants them both to dial it down to a negative whisper. "Bonnie you had us so worried . .. "

In hindsight, maybe sending Caroline a text proclaiming Bonnie's impending death wasn't the proper way to get across the message regarding her illness.

"Back up, Blondie." Bonnie can tell Damon is closer. His voice echoes right over head, and she can feel his arms around her as the room shifts on its axis. "Let's get her off the bathroom floor and into bed, then get her some proper sustenance and medication."

"No," Bonnie shakes her head and groans. She doesn't have to open her eyes for the hammers and daggers to alternate beating on her brain. Evidently the pain isn't partial to torturing her on one kind of stimulus. She hates that she clutches at Damon's shirt, the familiarity of it and his scent, burying her face in the soap and laundry detergent and beneath it all, the scent that is all Damon. "I'm only going to end up back here again. . ."

"Ugh, I remember the flu," Caroline's voice carries from the bedroom. "You just want to stay by the toilet because you don't want to have to run there and miss making it. Talk about a mess that you don't want clean up. I am so happy that that's behind me."

Bonnie finds the energy. It's feeble. Her arm flops and shakes, her hand wavers, but somehow, she manages to send Caroline a very specific message with her middle finger.

Damon laughs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. It still hurts her head, but it's also comforting and Bonnie snuggles in closer. Mostly because she's trying to ignore the motion of being moved across the room. "Who would have known that Bonnie Bennett could be so melodramatic?"

"Leave her alone, Damon, she's sick."

"She smells it."

Bonnie makes a face and purposely rubs her sweaty cheek against Damon's shirt. If she survives this, she makes a mental note to find a spell that will give vampires a vampire flu.

"Just put her in bed, and I'll take care of her from here," Caroline orders.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. You can barely figure out if you and Stefan are coming or going. I don't think I'm leaving Bon Bon's care to you." Bonnie tries to cling to Damon as he shifts her to the bed. She doesn't have to look at him to see the look on his face. She can _hear_ his eyes rolling.

"What do you know about taking care of a sick person?" Caroline huffs. Bonnie peeks through her eyelids, watching the blonde vampire jut out her chin and place her hands on her hips. "Your idea of fixing something is to drown it in alcohol or kill it. Bonnie doesn't need your kind of help, Damon."

Bonnie wonders why she has to be on her deathbed - because she still isn't convinced that this flu isn't going to be the end of her - for the vampires to fight over her well-being. It's almost laughable. If she had the strength to laugh.

"Guys - " It's a feeble and weak protest, to interject herself in the midst of their argument. The room is spinning and she's pretty certain that the bed is not the best place for her to be right now.

"Killing something. Sounding really good right about now." Damon gives a pointed look to Caroline, spelling out exactly who or what he wants to kill.

"Guys, I think - " Bonnie doesn't finish the sentence as her stomach starts to roll and her body starts to retch in an attempt to launch her intestines through her esophagus. Fortunately, there is something to be said for vampire speed. She's back in the bathroom, huddled over the toilet and painfully dry heaving before her mind can process that she's been moved again. She's intimately acquainted with the cool porcelain bowl and resting her cheek against it is like being caressed by a familiar lover.

"Told you . . .I should stay here," Bonnie pants. Her insides ache, and again she wants life to finally take pity on her and let her slip into blessed unconsciousness. Something cool rests on the back of her neck and she closes her eyes. It's the first time in hours - days - feels like years - that she's sighed in comfort and relief.

"I got this," Damon says. His voice is softer, noticeably closer. The coolness on her neck shifts, moves, becoming soft fingers and a familiar touch.

"I'm going to get groceries then," Caroline's voice comes from the doorway. "Ginger ale, crackers. Chicken noodle, no chicken and stars, soup. Teddy bear graham crackers."

"Teddy bear graham crackers?" Damon echoes, with a scoff in his voice.

"I like them." Bonnie smiles against her porcelain pillow. She loves Caroline and how Caroline remembers. Grams used to give her Teddy grahams when she was sick. She'll thank her later. If she lives through this.

"Teddy bear graham crackers," Caroline crows in triumph, the proud winner of an elusive battle victory. "Don't worry, Bonnie, I'll be back soon."

"Is over dramatic a BFF thing between you two?" Damon asks a few moments after Caroline's departure. Aside from the consistent firm comforting stroking of her back, Bonnie nearly forgot his presence, he was still and quiet for so long.

"She knows me," Bonnie explains needlessly.

" _I_ know you better." With that she feels Damon's arms beneath her legs, lifting her from the floor. "Right now, I know I better get you into bed."

"I'm only going to end up back here," Bonnie registers her protest again. Just in case Damon missed it the first two times she's tried to impart the necessity of her marriage to the toilet.

"You have a vampire by your side. I got you there in time once, I'll get you there again." The words are softer, more mild than his earlier scorn and mockery.

Things are still strained between them sometimes; some days life goes on as normal and others, she can feel a fragile tension that she worries might snap like so much fine china smattering onto a cold, hard floor. This, though, Bonnie knows is her _friend_ Damon, showing a side very few have the opportunity to see. Bonnie tilts her head up to stare at him. "I know your shirt is designer."

Crystal blue eyes meet hers, crinkling slightly at the corners. "It's the shoes you better be careful of today." Damon sets her on the edge of the bed, helps her to swing her legs around, but doesn't pull the sheets up. He wrinkles his nose, one hand resting atop of one of hers. "You really do stink, Bon Bon. Let's get you changed before you lay back down. When you're feeling a little better, maybe you can get a shower."

Bonnie may be severely under the weather and wishing that she hadn't opted out of the flu vaccine when it was offered, but she's not so fog headed that she can't process Damon's words.

"No."

"What?" Surprise colors his handsome features, his brow crinkling a little in a way that reminds her of Stefan, though she'd never tell him that. Well, she might, if she were in a better mood and state of mind.

"You're not . . . going to see me naked."

If Bonnie didn't think it was possible to further surprise Damon, she learns that she's wrong. His lips actually part, piercing blue eyes going wide before he pushes out a breath of air in a laugh. "You think I'm trying to get you naked? You really _are_ out of it, aren't you?"

Bonnie glares at him, not sure whether to be relieved or offended. Not that she in anyway _wants_ Damon to see her naked, but there's a scratching at her ego that says she's just hot enough that if he's male, he should be curious.

"Bonnie Bennett," Damon clucks her name and pats her hand. " _If_ I were trying to get you naked, I wouldn't waste time trying to sneak it in under the pretense of getting you into clothes that don't smell like they haven't been washed in a week. You should know that this is not my MO for getting a pretty girl naked. It's only fun to take advantage when they're drunk, or compelled, or both. Not when they've been worshipping at the porcelain altar."

Standing Damon flashes to her dresser before she can interject and begins going through her things. "Besides, it would be stupid of me to try that with super witch who can fry my brain or set me on fire with a thought." A t-shirt flies over his shoulder to land neatly in her lap, and he keeps his attention focused on the wall behind the tall dresser. "Let me know when you're decent."

Were she in a better headspace, Bonnie knows she would have a snarky remark at ready. Something about always being decent or more decent than he is. In her current state, she takes his words for what they are: an unspoken agreement to not take a peek at her goodies while she shuffles out of the dirty, sweaty t-shirt and puts on a clean one. What does it mean that it's one of her favorites, one of the few t-shirts that her father owned, that she couldn't dare give away with so many of his things and therefore kept it to use as a nightshirt? Of all the t-shirts that Damon plucked at random, he plucked this one?

"I'm changed," Bonnie announces. She's normally tidy (well, tidier) but the floor by the side of the bed seems as good a place as any for the discarded clothing. Fully out of energy, she slumps back against the pillow and lets her eyes blissfully drift closed. It's the dipping of the mattress beside her that has her opening them again, peeking out to see Damon stretched out on his back, hands folded on his abdomen, legs crossed at the ankles. Sometime between actually respecting her need for modesty and climbing onto her bed, he's removed his shoes.

Her fever addled brain thinks, _He was serious about the shoes_.

"Just when I start to miss the judgy eyes, you pull them right back out," Damon cuts his gaze to the side, looking down at her. "Get some rest, Typhoid Mary. I'm here to speed you to the bathroom if the need arises."

The witch doesn't even object when he slides down the mattress and rolls onto his side watching her intently. Or when he smooths damp hair from her forehead and tucks the sheet up over her shoulder. "I'm giving you pass because you're feverish, but when you're well, you and I are going to have a talk about word selection in text messages _and_ how you thought it was a good idea to contact the world's most annoying vampire first."

His voice softens, and something around his eyes does as well. It never fails to make him look younger and more vulnerable. It means more to Bonnie than she will possibly ever express that he shares that part of himself with her. "You're not allowed to scare me like that."

With a slow nod, Bonnie closes her eyes again. A part of her is too tired to argue. A part of her doesn't want to. Moments like these, when Damon re-affirms with quiet sincerity that he doesn't regret his choice. That no matter the awkwardness that sometimes rears its head between them, things are as they should be.

She wonders when this became her life. When Damon Salvatore by her side became a warm comfort. Later, she'll end up snapping at him about respecting privacy, and slamming the door in his face when she finds out he did sneak a peek while she was changing. A couple of days from now, she'll throw an empty box of teddy graham crackers at his head for eating the last of them. And a week from now will have her colorfully cursing at him when she finds out he's changed Caroline's number in her phone to his own, as she scrambles to tell Caroline she's running late for their movie date.

But for now, she feels better than she has for hours. She's still staring down the flu, and while she's loathe to admit it, having Damon looking over her shoulder for the next twenty four hours isn't entirely unappealing.


End file.
